


Peer Pressure

by Fernandidilly_yo



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Anxiety, Domestic junk, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hurt Peter, Hurt/Comfort, Peter needs and deserves all the hugs, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, and a tiny bit during, just at the beginning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-05 10:32:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11576274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fernandidilly_yo/pseuds/Fernandidilly_yo
Summary: Peter was (sort of) prepared to deal with the physical injuries after his fight with Vulture, the teenage hero, however, was not properly equipped to deal with the psychological ones.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been trying to get this fic up since I saw Homecoming last week (it's so amazing I'm still crying over it) but this darn story keeps randomly sprouting new scenes...so now instead of being a one-shot, it shall be multiple chapters. ¯\\(°_o)/¯ 
> 
> **Spoilers-** For Spider-Man Homecoming (duh) you don't want to read this unless you've already seen it, believe me. 
> 
> **Warnings-** Minor Injuries and Anxiety. 
> 
> **Disclaimer-** I mean...really? Do I have to?

**Peer Pressure-**

Peter gasps wetly, cement and dirty water making their way through his mask and coating his tongue. The rubble over him hasn't settled, dust and debris still falling around and on top of Peter, a sadistic and terrifying kind of rain.

Peter's ears are still ringing piercingly from the immense sound a building makes when it collapses over you, the crumbling drywall and the snap of metal pipes and support beams. The teenager gasps and wheezes, choking on dust and his own panicked breathing. His senses going haywire as he fumbles with trembling fingers to get his mask _off_ , because…because he can't  _breathe,_ and he needs the fabric away from his face, off of from his mouth  _right now!_

The teen finally manages to tear the mask off, gasping in a large shuddering breath, but cutting off as he can't fully expand his chest with air, his front and back sandwiched between the wreckage tightly, pinning him in place and  _crushing_  Peter like the insect he so ironically is.

He pants and sucks in tainted air, taking in shallow hot breaths as he feels those butterflies in his stomach burst inside of him with his ever-growing fear. "O-okay ready," he tells himself, he just needs to get out of this, needs to push up so he can squeeze his way out to safety. Peter shoves upward, grunting and straining to heave up against the debris. It doesn't even budge. Something digging into the back of Peter's left thigh sharply, his hands getting cut on some of the wreckage as he strains upward.

Peter takes in another wheezed gasp, swallowing down bile as he feels himself panicking, his body going numb with the pressure, his breathing getting closer to hyperventilation as he truly realizes his terrible predicament.  _"Hello?!"_  he calls breathlessly, but his voice just bounces off the rubble around him.

Peter's eyes prickle with hot tears, his insides on fire with an ever-growing terror and his lungs burning because he needs  _air_.  _An-and_  he just needs- he just needs out, he needs out  _right now_ , bu-but no one is  _here_ , no one knows Peter is under the warehouse.  _"NOOOOO!"_  he screams utterly distraught, the fear finally taking over as he feels those tears mix with the muddy water dripping onto his face.

_"P-please!"_  Peter cries desperately, " _hey h-hey,_  hey  _please_ ," he begs, but no one can hear him. There is no help coming, there is no rescue. This won't end in the same way it had when Peter was abruptly dropped into the bay, there is no tracker on him, and there is no A.I in his ear, there is no Iron Man coming to save him, Peter is  _alone._

"I'm down here-  _I'm down here_ ," Peter sobs hysterically, gasping and wheezing as he tastes blood and cement, beginning to see black spots in his field of vision as he trembles and shakes apart. "I'm stuck-  _I'm stuck_ , I can't move," he tells no one.

The teen's head buzzes, the feeling in his legs beginning to go, replaced with pinpricks and needles. The teen lets his head fall, panting down at the ground for a moment and blinking dust and powder out of his eyes before he catches sight of half his mask in some of the murky water leaking from the broken pipes and pooling on the floor.

Peter stares at the homemade mask for a moment, tears blurring his vision before he is able to make out the distorted reflection of his own ashen and scared face.  _"If you're nothing_   _without the suit, then you shouldn't have it."_ Rings throughout the teen's head, and suddenly, Peter understands what it meant when Tony Stark had said those words to him.

It wasn't what Peter wore or what tech he had that made him Spiderman. It wasn't the suit, it wasn't the web-shooters or any of those other things. Peter _is_  Spiderman, they aren't two separate people, he _is_  Spiderman.

"Come on Peter," the teen whispers to himself, shifting under the rubble.  _Spiderman_  wouldn't give up, Spiderman would fight, Spiderman can get out of this, " _come on Spiderman, come on Spiderman_ ," Peter chants to himself, pressing up against the derbies, ignoring the strain in his muscles and the sharp pains as random pieces of wreckage dig further into his flesh.

"Come on Spiderman," he grunts, straining and focusing his body to go further than it ever has before, pushing himself harder than he thought possible. Peter _is_  Spiderman, with or without the suit, he is Spiderman, and Spiderman would  _never_  give up.  _"COME ON SPIDERMAN!"_

Peter's legs shake as he comes to a stand, metal scratching down his back and his arms feeling as if they might snap from the amount of weight he is lifting. But he's doing it, he's going to get out of here. Peter screams as he throws the large chunk of wreckage from himself, grunting and panting as he is finally able to take a full breath of air.

The teen stands there for a moment gathering himself, his heart beating frantically in his chest and his eyes swimming, his fingers tingly and his mouth tasting like blood. He allows himself a minute before scooping up his mask and turning away, his job isn't done.

* * *

Peter sits folded high on top of a roller-coaster, the same one that he at one time, had been too afraid of riding, which is ironic in  _so many ways_ , but Peter is too tired to account for them right now.

The teen takes deep grounding breaths, watching the flames of the plane wreckage on the beach, the smoke and fire blowing in the gust wistfully. He can still smell the burnt fuel and singed metal, can still taste cement and blood in his mouth, can still feel the biting wind chilling him to the bone.

Peter is sore and tired, still hurt and bleeding and exhausted in more ways than one. But he has to see this through, has to make sure that the good guys get here before he makes his disappearance. Which shouldn't be too much longer, if the sound of sirens is anything to go by.

The teen shifts, breathing in fresh air and closing his eyes for a moment. He's so very beaten up, worse than he's ever been. But Peter feels good, knowing that he made a difference, that he actually did something right…it feels,  _really, really_  good. And maybe this is what it's like to be a hero, maybe this is what it's all about, knowing at the end of the day that he's made the right choices, that he's done something worthwhile, something he can truly be proud of.

A pair of large black vehicles along with some police cars pull up and onto the beach, not ten minutes after Peter webbed up the crates and Toomes for them to find. The teen watches them scour through the remains of the plane, watches as they shine their flashlights and yell their orders to each other.

The fire department is on their way, Peter can hear their distinct sirens wailing from a couple of blocks away. They'll put out the fires, and it looks as if the men on the beach have already located Toomes. Peter needs to go, needs to trudge his way home before he loses all of the diminished energy he has left. He can feel the adrenaline crash coming, his limbs already shaky and his head a bit numb.

The teen turns, slipping his soiled mask on and shooting off a web-line before he swings from the Cyclone and over the many cars and people of the city. It is only then, only when the wind is snapping at Peter's sweats, and his muscles are burning with the pull of swinging, that Peter realizes if he goes home  _now_ , Aunt May will almost certainly see him, and Peter is far too beaten up for that. And there is  _no_  fibbing his way out of or hiding these injuries from her, this isn't just a black eye or a split lip. Peter can't go home in his current condition, not without an explanation.

Spidey swings around a corner, shooting off another web and landing on a rooftop before changing course. He needs a phone. The teen launches himself off the ledge, twisting around to go back in the opposite direction before running across the side of a nearby building and jumping off again.

His phone should still be in the back of Liz's dad's car, which isn't very far from here, Peter can make it.  _Spiderman_  can make it.

It only takes the teen a handful of minutes to swing back to the warehouse. But when Spidey lands on a light-post across the street from the building, the teenager's heart flutters anxiously in his chest, his breath hitching from in-between chapped lips, and his legs feeling slightly wobbly.

Peter hadn't given any thought to how he would feel looking back upon the collapsed warehouse, he should have put more consideration into it, because if he had thought it through he might've tried to find a pay-phone instead.

His brown eyes scan the wreckage for a moment, his chest constricting tightly, almost painfully, as his mouth goes dry, making it hard to swallow past the scratchy lump in his throat, before the teenager forces his eyes away.

He came here for a  _reason_ , the quicker he grabs his phone the faster he'll be able to swing away from here and get help. The teen jumps down to the ground, stumbling slightly on unsupportive legs before he spots Toomes' car parked a good fifteen feet from the building.

The teen runs over to it in a hurry, fiddling with the handle and finding the car locked, he takes in a ragged breath and elbows the glass of the back window, ignoring the blaring car alarm and shattered glass as he pops the door open and searches for his phone, it only takes him seconds to find where it has slid under the passenger's seat, but it feels far too long.

As soon as the teenager's fingers have the phone in grip Peter is webbing himself away with a newfound vigor, going as fast as he possibly can until the collapsed warehouse is completely out of sight.

The teen crashes to a low rooftop a few minutes later, losing his footing before sliding forward on his knees, Peter barely notices- panting out large breaths and clutching at his heaving chest with one hand, struggling to pull his mask back off with unsteady fingers.

_He's okay, everything's okay._

Peter sucks in a gulp of night air as the fabric is ripped away, sitting down on the cold ground as he hits Ned's number with a singed finger and presses the phone to his ear a bit desperately while he tries to get his erratic breathing under control.

Ned answers on the second ring, " _Peter!?"_  he whisper-shouts, "dude, are okay? I was really worried."

Peter scrubs at his smudged face. He's starting to feel it now, his injuries throbbing and his skin wrapped around his body too tightly, it's not the most unusual feeling, the pool of anxiety building in the bottom of the teenager's gut and slowly spreading, leaving him jittery and shaky.

"I-I'm fine, I got him… I b-beat Liz's dad," Peter tells Ned, he's feeling floaty, and not in a good way either, kind of like his head wants to leave his body, his mind beginning to drift away in an attempt to leave the pain and uncertainty behind.

" _Oh my god!"_  Ned says, "that is _so_  awesome, I can't believe that we got him! How bad was it? Did you get hurt? Like on a scale from  _Captain America_  to  _Ultron_  how bad of a bad guy was Liz's dad?" Ned starts to babble over the line.

Peter presses a hand to his bleeding mouth, "Ned,  _Ned_ ," he interrupts through his fingers, feeling his own breath to remind himself that he is in fact still breathing, "where are you right now?"

"I'm almost home," Ned says, sounding less excited and a bit more serious, "why?"

Peter sucks in a large breath through his nose, feels the way it rattles in his lungs. "Are your parents gonna be home?" he asks, he's starting to feel cold all over, his muscles going jello-y on him and his head buzzing, Peter needs food _asap_.

Ned sounds unsure as he speaks, "they were going out tonight, seeing a movie or something, it's probably only my sister-"

Peter cuts off again, "can I come over?" he asks in a rush of hot air, feeling the need to add on a desperate  _"please?"_  a moment later.

Ned sounds surprised and a tad worried over the line as he says, softer now, "yeah, of course, Pete," he pauses, "can…can you make it to my house?"

Peter nods vigorously, maybe a bit hysterically, before he realizes Ned can't see him. " _Y-yeah,_  I'll see you in a few," and then Peter is hanging up. Letting out a wobbly breath as he shoves his phone into his thick red sock and forces himself to his numb feet.

* * *

Ned's house isn't all that far from Midtown High, which means the teen has been home for all of ten minutes when Peter clambers in through Ned's bedroom window, accidentally knocking over some half-built Legos with uncoordinated and clumsy limbs as he practically falls into the room with a dull  _'thud'_.

" _Peter?"_  Ned exclaims, jumping up from his desk and coming over to help the other teen in through the window.

Once inside Ned lets go of Peter and the teenage-hero plops himself onto the floor, pulling off his mask and blinking up at his best friend with blurry unfocused eyes. "Hi," Peter croaks voice hoarse from dryness or emotion.

It's warmer in Ned's house, and much quieter, the walls helping to drown out some of the noise of New York, but Peter is currently crashing from his adrenaline high, is very injured and horribly tired- on the edge of sensory overload and beginning to really feel the after battle drop now.

" _Peter,"_  Ned says again, this time sounding slightly choked. He looks down at his hurt friend with wide concerned eyes, his fingers reach out towards Peter helplessly a few times before pulling away. Ned looks lost, not sure what to do in this odd and foreign situation. Honestly, Peter is a little lost too.

"Are-are you  _okay_?" Ned asks, before shaking his head quickly and going on, "of  _course_  you aren't okay, I-I…what do you need, what do I  _do?"_  Ned is getting panicky, starting to ramble as he blinks down at Peter.

Peter scrunches his eyes closed tightly as Ned continues, letting out a ragged breath as he tries to relax into the thick carpet under Ned's bed, focusing on the smell of Ned's family's fabric softener and the taste of Cheetos in the air. Peter's senses are all scrambled and distorted with something akin to static. His head pounding in time with his too fast heartbeat, and his ears  _'wh-whooshing'_  with the sound of his blood pulsing, it's taking everything in Peter to keep calm.

He's fine, there's no need to freak out.

Opening his eyes Peter says, "I need food, water, and a washcloth."

Before he even gets all the words out Ned is rushing out of the bedroom. Peter can hear Ned cluttering around the kitchen, can make out the sound of the microwave humming and the sink running. His enhanced hearing is starting the better of him, making Peter's head pound and his stomach twist and churn inside of him as he can't seem to block any of the noise out. He misses his headphones.

The teen works on getting his homemade costume off, pulling his fingerless gloves and sleeveless hoodie away from his body, before beginning the process of slipping out of his sweats. Normally it isn't hard, it's just taking off some fancied-up gym clothes for Pete sake, but this time the fabric clings to Peter's injuries, pulling at his cuts and making him wince as he works to shrug out of them.

Ned comes in as Peter struggles to pull off his long-sleeved sweatshirt, biting back grunts of discomfort as the dirty fabric rubs sand and grit into his shoulder wounds and the cuts in his back painfully.

"Oh-oh," Ned mumbles almost to himself, "this is bad. Peter- dude, are you alright? Do I…do I need to call somebody? Mr. Stark or Mr. Happy, Aunt May?" he asks frantically as he helps to slip the sweatshirt off of Peter a bit more gently.

Peter lets out a hiss as the fabric comes away. "It looks worse than it is," he says, which he isn't really sure if that is a lie or not, Peter doesn't  _actually_  know how bad any of his injuries are, but it sounds like the right thing to say at this moment. "I just need some food, high protein, and-and maybe  _sugar_?" Peter scrubs at his face uncertain, "I-I'm not sure how my healing factor works yet, I've never had to heal up from something like this before."

Ned bites his lip, before taking in a deep breath through his nose and giving one curt nod, as if centering himself. "I got this,  _we_  got this," he states, "man in the chair, Pete," he mumbles, as he grabs something off of his bed and shoves it at Peter who is still sat on the floor. It's a water bottle, which Peter is enormously grateful for.

"Thanks," Peter says after he has downed the whole thing, Ned is giving him a weird look- like he's just now really seeing Peter for the first time, Peter can't help but shift shyly under his friend's gaze, raising an eyebrow in silent question.

That seems to snap Ned out of it. "Right," he hums, leaving the room for another minute before coming back with two bowls in hand. He balances them as he kicks his bedroom door shut, setting the larger of the two down on his desk before handing Peter the other one.

It's a large Tupperware bowl of pasta, Ned's mom makes the _best_  pasta, Peter dives into it without a second thought, giving a thankful little moan as he begins the never-ending chore of filling his black hole of a stomach. Eating about half of it as Ned hovers over him apprehensively, twisting his fingers and bouncing on the balls of his feet as he observes Peter with worried assessing eyes.

"I'm fine Ned," Peter says, blinking down at his stolen pasta. ( _Is he?_  Is he fine?) "I-I just need a place to crash." It's true, laying low over at Ned's is better than trying to hide away at his own apartment.

But there is definitely another factor here, one that Peter hadn't considered or even thought of before…he does  _not_  want to be alone right now, and Peter is immensely grateful to have Ned with him, is-  _not for the first time_ \- glad that Ned knows about Peter being Spiderman.

Ned swallows down some of his anxieties, "sure, sure," he agrees, nodding before he gives a quick glance out his window. "It's just… are you sure  _this_  is the right place to crash? I don't really know what I'm doing here, I'm a tech nerd, I-I don't know anything about injuries and how to- I don't know- _fix_  them?"

Peter spins his fork around in the noodles, looking up at his friend for a moment. He already feels a bit better, the taste of cement and blood washed out of his mouth and his metabolism and healing factor having some required fuel to work with, Ned's voice in his ears rather than the deafening roar of wind or the loud crash of a building crumbling down around him.

Peter sucks in another ragged breath, blinking rapidly a few times, pushing those thoughts away and shoving more food into his mouth as a distraction. "I don't think any of my injuries are  _that_  bad," Peter says around the food in his mouth, "we just need to-to clean them, get the dirt and sand out so, uh, so my body doesn't try to heal with that stuff still in there."

Ned nods, "okay, just…if anything is too deep or bleeding too much, I-I, I want to call somebody. An adult, a grown up."

Peter hums, blinking hard a few times. He doesn't think it will come to that, doesn't think that any of his wounds are too much for him and Ned to handle on their own. But if it makes Ned feel better, "okay," Peter agrees.

And they get to work.

* * *

Peter hasn't actually been to Ned's house in a quite a while, so he doesn't have any spare clothes hidden away here. Which proved to be a slight problem for the two teenage boys, since Ned and Peter don't really wear the same size, not to mention that Peter is still sluggishly bleeding, and clothes sound like a pretty decent idea right about now.

But after a little bit of searching Peter is decked out in one of Ned's older and worn-soft t-shirts, Chunk from the movie Goonies on the front, the words 'Do the truffle shuffle' printed in small font over the stomach, and some too big Star Wars pajama pants that have a rip in the knee and sag off Peter, hanging to the floor to cover his bare feet. The clothes are perfect, loose enough not to rub against Peter's injuries and soft enough not to send him into a sensory overload.

Ned's house doesn't have any bandages, so the pair did the best they could with what they had, which had been Proxied, Neosporin, a bowl of warm water, a washcloth, and a few large Band-Aids. Ned had apologized like he should have a ready to go first aid kit on hand or something. But Peter had poked the other teen on the forehead in a playful rebuke, shushing him because it wasn't like Peter's house had anything better.

As Ned washed some sand out of the scratches in Peter's back, telling Peter about how he had been kicked out of the dance once he was found in the computer lab ("I couldn't think of any excuses, my mom is going to be  _so_  mad.") Peter thought of all the things he would need to buy for when something like this inexplicitly happened again.

Peter can't believe how naïve he had been to think something like this wouldn't (or couldn't) happen to him. He didn't have disinfectant, no bandages, or gauze, no burn cream, or medical tape,  _zilch, nada, zip_.

Peter and Ned had to look up how to deal with the burns on Peter's hands, had to Google what to do about the gashes that were still slowly bleeding from the mechanical claws that had dug into his chest, and they had to write down what the first signs for Tetanus were, just in case…

Because Peter doesn't  _know_  what his body could handle, he doesn't know if he needs to worry about infection or going into shock, because honestly, all of this, all of this was a completely brand-new situation for Peter, one that he had foolishly not expected.

And that made the teen realize how unprepared he has been, made him realize how irresponsible and reckless some of his decisions were up to this point. It finally  _clicked_ \- why Tony had taken the suit back, why he had set up all those precautions that Peter had looked at as restraints and not protections. It made Peter realize that maybe Tony wasn't so horribly wrong.

But even still, Peter didn't regret going after Toomes, he would make the same choice. He'd do it all over again  _-right now-_ if that's what it came down to.

"Peter?" Ned's voice snapped Peter back to the present, they were both on Ned's bed, huddled under soft blankets with root beer floats slowly melting stickily into the covers, one of the newer Star Wars movies playing almost mutely on Ned's laptop sat precariously on the edge of the mattress.

Peter glanced over at his friend, he felt oddly numb, it was almost as if his mind was just now catching up to what had happened to him, now that he was cleaned up and fed, warm and by his friend's side, the teenager's brain could stop fretting over what he  _had_ to do, and be worried over what had already been  _done_.

His mind was stuck in a screaming loop, replaying what had happened tonight, what he had been willing to do, what  _Liz's dad_  had been willing to do. It was almost like a dream, a nightmare, something that wasn't real but left you feeling off-kilter and shaky. But it  _had_  been real, it had been and that was thrilling and scary and about a million other things Peter couldn't decipher right now.

"…yea?" Peter asked back, rolling his head against the flat surface of the wall he was leaned up against, now watching the shadows of color from the movie illuminate Ned's concerned expression.

"Are you okay?" Ned asked, pursing his lips with the question. He had changed too, out of his suit for Homecoming, (boy, had that only been tonight? It felt like a lifetime ago) now decked out in a dark blue hoodie and Captain America pajama pants.

Peter opened his stiff mouth to answer, not exactly sure what he wanted to say, what he even could say. Yes, yes he was _going_  to be fine, he would get past this just like he had gotten past everything else the universe has thrown his way… but that wasn't the question, was it?

Before Peter could form any words though, his phone started ringing. The teen froze, it was May's personalized ringtone, the tune of Michael Jackson's 'Thriller' blasting from the phones tinny and small speaker. May's smiling face flashed up at him as he scrambled to grab the phone from under the covers.

Peter swallowed hard as he answered, taking a grounding breath through his nose. "Hi May," he greeted, willing himself to sound normal, like he had been laughing with friends or messing around, y'know what _regular_  fifteen-year-olds do.

"Hey honey," she greeted back, her voice light, unbothered, "I know we said curfew could be pushed up, but it's starting to get pretty late."

Hearing her voice made something in Peter twist harshly, and suddenly-  _suddenly_  all he wanted to do was be at home with her, to hug May and fall asleep on the couch with her while watching cheesy horror movies, both waking up in a jumble of limbs and laughing as they untangled themselves from each other before making breakfast.

But Peter couldn't do that, couldn't go home. Because he was bruised and hurt and May couldn't see him this way, because if Peter saw her right now he'd hug her too fiercely, because May would know something was wrong and ask questions, because then Peter would have to _tell_  her, would have to tell her about Spiderman.

"I-I was gonna spend the night as Ned's," Peter tells her, clearing his throat as his voice comes out far too emotional and hoarse from the lump that is forming there, threatening to choke him.

There's a long pause over the line, and for a moment Peter worries that May figured out he was upset from over the phone. The teen chews on his lip, wonders if she will demand he come home and tell her what is wrong.

But then she sighs and says, "can I speak to Ned?"

And Peter realizes with a jolt that it is  _Homecoming_ night, and then he thinks about what  _normal_  kids do after Homecoming…which very distinctly involves your  _girlfriend_  and  _not_  your girlfriend's dad.

Peter stutters out a response, feeling caught off guard and embarrassed for making his Aunt think he was lying to her to do-to do… _that_. "Y-yeah," Peter chokes out, "he's right here," and then he hands the phone over to a very confused Ned as he feels a burst of mortified butterflies flutter in his stomach.

"Hi May," Ned greets, eyeing Peter from the corner of his eye. "We were thinking Star Wars marathon...mmhum…yeah…" Ned smiles, huffing a laugh as he says, "heh, yeah the hat totally worked like a charm tonight," the conversation goes on for a little longer, Ned making small comments, not seeming concerned whatsoever. "Okay. You too. Night May."

And the slightly cracked phone is back in Peter's hand and pressed to his ear, May sounds more relaxed when she speaks, "okay, now that that is cleared up," she says, her tone teasing, "tell me how it went?  _Did you have fun?"_  And her excited and expectant tone makes Peter feel guilty, makes him want to curl up into a ball.

And for a moment Peter almost wants to tell her-  _no_ , no he did  _not_  have fun, his night was the opposite of fun, it was very  _unfun_. And the words are practically on the tip of his tongue, the truth, he wants to tell her the  _truth_  for once. But the teen just sucks in a breath and closes his eyes as he says, "yeah, the punch was gross, dancing was okay, it was nice." And it shouldn't be this easy to lie to her, but it is, and it makes Peter feel sick to his stomach.

"I'm glad sweetheart," she says, sounding fond, "I want to hear all about it when you come home tomorrow alright? So, don't stay up all night with Ned, honey," she teases, "you can have Ned over if you want, we could catch a movie or something." And May goes on, making offers to have Peter's friend over and treat them to things they can't really afford.

And Peter's eyes well up and his chest is getting tighter, and he needs to hang up before he gives himself away because he just wants his  _mom_  right now, but he needs to shove that feeling down because it is ridiculous for a  _Superhero_  to want their  _mommy_.

So, instead, the teen huffs a watery laugh that he hopes doesn't sound as broken or distraught as he feels, and says, "that'd be great May, sounds like fun."

May pauses and so does Ned, the silence grates on Peter's already frayed nerves but he pushes past it, "I'll talk to Ned about it okay? I'll text you in the morning."

May makes a noise that Peter can't quite hear before she answers, now sounding unsure as she speaks. "Alright honey," she says, "I'll let you go." She pauses again, and Peter bites his lip hard, feeling the pressure building behind his closed eyes.

"Love you May," Peter says and it sounds a bit too wobbly to be able to deny convincingly so he hangs up before she can reply, dropping the phone in his lap before he's tilting, falling, into Ned, and Ned is already prepared to catch him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm already working on the next chapter so that should be up soon, my fellow goofballs. (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
> 
> Kudos and comments make the hamster in my computer go faster, so be sure to drop some of those. ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to have this up a few days ago, but I went out and actually human-ed with other humans! (ʘᗩʘ') *gasp*  
> I know surprising.
> 
> Thank you all so much for the support, the hamster in my computer is working double time!

**Chapter 2-**

The weekend passes by in a blur for Peter.

He sneaks out of Ned's house early in the morning before Ned's parents have time to wake up, grabbing a pop tart and taking his time as he walks to his apartment in the soft light of morning. His homemade Spiderman suit tucked safely away in one of Ned's draw string backpacks and his feet slipping out of some borrowed sneakers.

Peter is able to duck his way into the bathroom and change before May wakes up for the day. Covering up any of the already fading bruises and hiding away any evidence that might catch May's eye or warrant her concern.

The teenager has to force himself to concentrate on taking deep settling breaths as the water from the shower slowly turns a light pink with dry blood; it gets easier to breathe though, as the smell of cement and smoke are washed away with too much shampoo and half a bar of soap. But Peter still feels numb and slightly floaty by the time he stumbles his way out of the bathroom to greet Aunt May.

The teenager feels oddly disconnected as Saturday and Sunday drag along, almost like what happened to him isn't real, because-  _because_  life goes on as if it  _hadn't_. And Peter has to pretend that it  _didn't,_  but his mind is stuck in a screaming loop and he can't seem to  _let go_.

May takes Peter and Ned to see Wonder Woman Saturday night, and within the dark of the theater Peter allows himself to hold on to Ned's jacket sleeve, lets himself be grounded by the presence of his friend, and it helps, it helps having someone that knows. Even if he hadn't given Ned the details, even if Ned doesn't know the extent, it's still something, and Peter clings to that.

On Sunday, May confronts Peter. Her hair in a high bun and her too big glasses slipping down her nose as she asks if he is okay. Ned had to leave that morning, and Peter couldn't help but feel less stable without his buddy around. And May knows him well enough to see when he isn't feeling like himself.

Peter stares at his food as he answers, doesn't want to look May in the eye as he lies to her. So, he gives her a half-truth instead, says that things didn't go well with Liz at the dance and that he's feeling a bit embarrassed and bad with how the situation turned out.

And because May is  _May_  she doesn't push for Peter to go on or give details, she just gets up and wraps Peter in a big hug, one that she probably doesn't realize he desperately needed.

And Peter let himself hug just a hair tighter than what he would normally, allowed himself to hold on for a moment longer than he should, and then he forces himself to let go, plastering a smile he doesn't feel onto his face as he thanks May and brushes off her concern.

He's fine, everything is fine.

* * *

The following Monday at school Michelle tracks Peter down while he's alone.

Peter spins around when he hears Michelle's voice, gawking at her, as she glares at him- looking especially unimpressed with her arms folded over her chest. "Michelle,  _Michelle_ , this is the _boy's_ bathroom," Peter informs her before abruptly cutting off, "wait…"  _oh god_ , had he accidentally gone into the girl's room again!?

Michelle rolls her brown eyes, "there's literally a urinal right behind you," she says, gesturing a hand toward the far wall.

Peter breaths out, dragging a hand down his face in relief.  _Thank goodness_ when Peter had gone into the wrong bathroom last year Flash hadn't let Peter live it down, and Peter had been called 'Peeping Peepee Peter' for over  _two months_  before the nickname died out. Which, by the way, was  _ridiculous_  because the name wasn't very original or even clever, but for some reason, it had stuck.

"So, uh," Peter mumbles, feeling unsure, "why are you  _in_   _here_?" he asks pulling on the sleeves of his red sweater (he had chosen it just in case he bleed anymore. But really, all of his injuries are mostly healed by now, 48 hours later and plenty of food intake is apparently enough to make Peter feel almost brand new. Physically speaking that is)

"People are gonna start to notice y'know," Michelle says in place of an answer, blowing some of the curly fringe out of her face.

Peter blinks at the other teenager, shifting from foot to foot as he licks at his suddenly dry lips. "They're gonna notice…notice  _what?"_  he asks back, feeling the tentacles of unease wrapping around his rib cage.

Michelle leans back against the bathroom wall, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jean skirt. "I don't know," she shrugs, looking down to her red sneakers for a moment before she says, "just be more careful."

And then she turns and pushes out the door, leaving Peter to wonder what just happened and to worry that he already knows the answer.

* * *

Ned seems a little concerned for the duration of the week, giving Peter worried glances throughout class and shoving food at him during lunch. And Ned doesn't protest when Peter sits closer than what is socially acceptable, doesn't say anything when Peter drapes his leg over Ned's or sits shoulder to shoulder with him.

Points of contact, small touches, they seem to help. When Peter's mind tries to float away or he feels jittery and unsettled, fisting the fabric of Ned's hoodie grounds him, and when Ned and Peter don't share a class  _stealing_  said hoodie and burrowing his nose into the fabric brings Peter back to the present. Takes away that pressure that seems to fill his chest until he can't breathe, until he's choking on it.

But Peter's okay. He's learning how to deal and push these feelings down, learning how to cope and navigate with that wiggling anxiety that seems to live within his chest cavity. He just needs to get back into his old groove. Fix his suit and begin going out on patrol again, that will get out his pent-up energy.

Spiderman is brave, Spiderman is strong. Peter wants to feel those things again, wants to feel that courage and boldness that settles over him when he dons the suit. He's tired of feeling shaky and unbalanced.

He just needs to summon up the nerve to put the mask back on…

* * *

Liz doesn't show up to school.

But it isn't a wonder why, not to Peter, and definitely not to the rest of the school. It's no secret, has been playing all over the News, whispered and gossiped about among students all week long. Liz's dad was an arms dealer and is now going to trial for his crimes, and no one knows where Liz is or how she is coping.

So that's why Peter is so surprised to see Liz that Friday afternoon, a box of Liz's various belongings in her teary-eyed mother's hands while Liz says goodbye to Betty Brant, the two sharing a tight hug and murmured words that Peter shouldn't be able to hear.

Peter leaves Ned's side with a quick "be right back." Before he jogs down the hallway.

The teen is feeling more stable with each day that has passed since the whole 'vulture incident', a week has gone by now, a whole seven days, and Peter has had enough time to wrap his head around the situation, he's fairly confident that something like that won't happen again. He's going to be more careful, less reckless and trigger happy (so to speak) Spiderman needs to think like an adult, not like some inexperienced kid, Peter's going to try his best to make that happen.

"Hey Liz," Peter calls, running down the hall to greet the older girl. Betty glances to Peter before walking away, leaving as Liz turns her back to Peter for an instant, gathering herself before she looks to the younger.

"Liz, um, look I-I'm so sorry," Peter says a little awkwardly, tripping over his words as he comes to stand a foot away from the senior.

Liz's big brown eyes are bloodshot and glassy as she says, "you say that a lot. What are you sorry for this time?"

And for a moment Peter freezes, floundering, his throat clogging with too many unspoken words-  _sorry for taking your dad away from you, sorry that you were left in the middle of all this chaos, sorry that your life won't ever be the same,_ _ **sorrysorrysorry**_ \- but Peter can't voice those apologize, can't speak the things he came here to say, and that just leaves him with a twisting stomach and a dry mouth.

"The dance?" Liz asks, taking Peter's silence to mean something else entirely. "That um, was a pretty crappy thing to do," she goes on, nodding to herself with the statement.

Peter blinks, surprised for a moment that she would think he was coming over here to talk about  _Homecoming_  of all things when her family has just been ripped apart. Peter remembers what that's like, knows very intimately how it feels to lose a father. And yes, Peter and Liz's situations are completely different; Uncle Ben had been a decent man, had died in cold blood; Adrian Toomes  _isn't_ dead and was far from a good man, but the feeling of loss is still the same. It doesn't matter if Toomes was a bad guy, he was still Liz's dad, and Liz is allowed to feel sorrow because her father was taken away from her.

"Yeah," Peter starts, feeling slightly choked up over the fact that she thinks he came to talk to her about something so trivial. But what else is she supposed to think? To her, Peter's just the guy that randomly ditched her at the dance, the kid that skipped the Academic Decathlon Nationals for no reason, the boy that has a crush on her and really sucks at showing it.

"But your dad…I-I can't imagine what you're going through," Peter stutters out, because he wants to make it clear that he didn't come over here because of the dance, but because he  _cares_ , and he might not fully understand, but he knows that what Liz is going through is hard. And maybe it's a stupid thing to say because there isn't anything Peter can do to fix this -Toomes made his choice and unfortunately, his family has to live with the consequences- but the teen can't help but add on, "if there's anything I can do to  _help_." Which there _isn't_ , and both Peter and Liz know it.

"I guess we're moving to Oregon," Liz tells Peter, shrugging as she blinks some of the wetness out of her eyes. "Mom says it's nice there so that's  _cool_." Her voice breaks a little on the last word and Peter has the inappropriate urge to lean in and give her a hug, because Peter can only guess as to what Liz is feeling inside, but he would bet it isn't too different from how he's been feeling these past few days, and Peter has needed his fair share of hugs. But Peter resists the impulse, doesn't want to make this any more awkward than it already is, he fiddles with his jacket sleeve at a loss of what to do.

"Anyways," Liz goes on a moment later, oblivious to Peter's inner struggle, and sounding a little stronger this time around. "Dad doesn't want us here during the trail so…"

And Peter just doesn't have any words for that, "Liz,  _I-I_ …" has no idea what he is supposed to say. Because Liz's dad  _deserves_  to be in prison, he  _does_ , and Peter refuses to regret putting him there, but he does feel guilty at what it's cost Liz and her family.

"Bye Peter," Liz says when words seem to fail the younger. "Whatever's going on with you I hope you figure it out." And then Liz is pushing out the doors, walking out of the school, leaving her friends and life behind, moving away from New York City, and Peter can do nothing but watch her go.

* * *

Things are looking up.

Peter is feeling less shaky and more stable with how his life seems to be playing out at the moment, he thinks he's finally making the right choices. He's stopped skipping school unnecessarily and his grades are starting to improve because of it. And Peter feels supported and safe with the help of his friends (yes that is  _plural_. Because apparently, MJ  _(yeah Michelle goes by MJ now)_  sees Peter and Ned as her friends)

Peter even made the hard decision of turning down Mr. Stark's offer to officially make Spiderman one of the Avengers. And Peter isn't going to lie, he's still proud of himself for making that difficult choice. The fact that he would even be considered as an applicant for the team still gives Peter excited goosebumps. But Peter can wait, because while Spiderman might be Peter's favorite part of himself, and something crucial and essential to his being, that doesn't mean that  _Peter Parker_  is disposable or useless. That's one thing that Peter has learned over these few weeks, as much as Peter needs Spiderman, Spiderman needs Peter Parker too.

_"_ _If you're nothing without the suit, then you shouldn't have it."_

Peter had been confused by Mr. Stark's words when the man had first spoken them. But the teen understands now, and he's taken them to heart. (Another reason he turned down the offer to be made an Avenger) He needs to finish growing up first, needs to make sure that his being Spiderman doesn't overrun his being Peter.

Peter is trying, he  _really_ is, and he thinks it's starting to show.

So, when the teen discovers a brown paper sack sat atop his covers Peter  _knows_  he is making the right decisions, can feel himself getting giddy with the way things seem to be turning around for him. He can't help but want to slip the suit on, the costume that had just started to feel like a second skin by the time it was so abruptly taken away.

And for that brief moment that Peter is allowed to climb back into the red and blue, he feels more stable, more grounded than he has in  _weeks_. Like this has been the missing part of himself, the tools he's been longing for to make him stand taller, breathe easier, feel calmer. Decked out in his Spiderman uniform, Karen's robotic voice in his ear-

But then that sense of steadiness suddenly shatters with May's voice, loud and disbelieving, shocked and sitting somewhere between angry and sorrow filled.

And Peter is left scrambling for excuses, stuttering out and tripping over his words. Because really, really there isn't anything more to be said, he's been caught red handed (quite literally) and nothing he can spout out is going to make a difference.

"Cut the bull," May finally says, her voice slicing through Peter's panicked babble. She doesn't speak for a moment, one of her hands pressed to her hip, the other rubbing at the bridge of her nose. "Stark," she finally says, "this was Tony Stark?"

And it isn't a question, but Peter feels he should answer it anyway, take the blame away from Mr. Stark. "N-no, I was, I've been doing this, before, before I met Tony." Peter doesn't know why, but he feels raw and vulnerable under his Aunt May's gaze. Like the secrets, the lies- were his armor, and without them, he's been left naked.

May's head snaps up, her eyes wide and incredulous. "Since… since  _before_?" she asks, nodding her head and pursing her lips as she blinks a bit rapidly. Peter's stomach swoops with guilt, and his fingers shake at his sides with pent up emotion.

May bites the inside of her lip, still nodding, almost hysterically at this point. "Living room," she says, pointing a finger toward the couch.

Peter opens his mouth, to say, what exactly, he doesn't know, but only hot air comes out and the teen ends up ducking his head under May's outstretched arm and slinking his way onto the couch cushions a moment later, still in his suit and feeling very much on display.

May does not sit.

She paces back and forth in front of Peter. Her hands gesturing wildly as she pieces everything together for herself. Where Peter sneaks out to every night, why he disappeared while in Washington, the real reason he started skipping school. She goes over it aloud. Her voice sometimes catching as she recalls some of the News reports she has seen involving Spiderman, her eyes welling up with unshed tears when she glances to her nephew still wearing the suit.

And Peter listens, listens to her choked off and slightly panicked babble, and he watches, watches as May's hands begin to tremble and her fingers tangle themselves into her hair long. He does not interrupt, doesn't try to defend himself because he is in the wrong and he knows it.

And then May has spoken all of her words, and they are left in a brittle and breakable silence, one Peter is too afraid to shatter, too scared to touch. May rubs at her temples, hunched over in her favorite chair as she just breathes, trying to collect herself as Peter sits taught and sit, attempting to keep himself together.

The teenager doesn't know what to say, doesn't know how he could possibly fix this, and even if he did, he isn't sure that the noose around his throat and claws digging their way out of his stomach would allow him to speak the words. So, he just sits, waiting for the silence to be broken.

May slowly sits up from her curled position, her hands in her lap and her eyes red rimmed. Peter hates seeing her look this way, hates even more that he is the cause of it. Last time- last time she had looked this wrecked, Ben had just- he had just-

"Go change," May says softly.

Peter is off the couch like a shot, the need to move has made his limbs feel like static, his head beginning to go numb with his anxious jitters. The teen is grateful to be let alone for a few moments. It gives him the privacy to breathe raggedly into the palms of his hands, gives him a second to tug at his hair to ground himself with a slight bit of pain, blinking rapidly in a vain attempt to push back the hot pressure behind his eyes.

Peter is thankful to be allowed to peel the suit off, to slink out of what May has been looking at with utter contempt all night. To put something else on, something that he doesn't feel so bare so exposed in, something that doesn't boldly state the fact that Peter has been living a double life behind his Aunt's back.

But at the same time, Peter is also afraid, afraid that this will be the last time he is allowed to slip the suit on, afraid that Aunt May will take it away from him, afraid that she won't approve and it will be snatched away from him again.

Peter swallows hard, feeling his breath catch in his chest and stick between his ribs. He doesn't know what he'll do if May demands he quit, doesn't know what he would possibly do without Spiderman in his life. But standing here isn't going to do anything but elongate that discussion.

So, Peter slips off the suit kicking it under his bed before quickly changing into some fleece pajama pants decked out in Thor's hammer and a worn Midtown High sweater, he ducks out of his room a few moments later, feeling wobbly and uncertain, his hands bunching up the hem of his shirt.

May has moved to the kitchen, her still shaking hands setting the tea kettle on the stove in silence, her back to Peter as she points to the table and simply says, "sit" with no trace of emotion in her voice. She doesn't sound sad or angry anymore, and Peter thinks that might be even worse.

The teenager plops into a chair without any reluctance, gnawing at his lip and ringing his fingers in his lap as he watches Aunt May move about the kitchen, gathering things and pouring two mugs of tea without a word. That same fragile quiet settling over them as if it  _hadn't_  been disrupted before, leaving Peter to only hear his own racing heartbeat in his ears.

It's a minute or two before May comes over with various take out, yesterday's leftover Chines and some Italian from that new place down the street. She sets everything down in the middle of the table, sliding Peter a cup of tea a moment after she sits across from him, her own hands wrapped around her favorite mug, the one Peter made her in fifth grade, the one that she had gushed over when he was eleven and never dared put in the dishwasher.

It's hard for Peter to meet her eyes, so the teen stares at his tea instead, breathes in the vapors that smell faintly of peppermint and honey. Peter fears that May will see him in a different light now that she knows, he's lied to her for so long, months upon months. And the fact that Peter has hurt his Aunt May makes him feel physically ill, his stomach twisting and his palms sweating. May is all Peter's got left, and he's all she has, and even with knowing that Peter had still been willing to break that trust between them.

May pushes a takeout box toward Peter, prompting him to eat with a nod of her head. The teen bites his bottom lip, picking up some chopsticks and shuffling a wanton within the box around just to have something to do with his building nervous energy, he doesn't think he could possibly eat with the angry octopus that seems to have occupied his stomach.

"Talk," May says after a moment, officially breaking the unbearable silence that had been on the brink of crushing Peter into a dark oblivion. Her voice is no longer watery, not like how it had become while she was on the edge of a nervous breakdown, confused and hurt at finding Spiderman in her nephew's bedroom.

Peter's voice is far too small when he asks, "what?"

May raises an eyebrow, "talk," she says again, "tell me. Tell me the story."

Peter takes in a deep breath, it rattles in his lungs making hot air stutter over his tongue. "O-of how I got the suit? Or-or the powers? I'm not sure-"

May shakes her head. "Everything. I want you to tell me everything. Lay it all out." She seems calmer now, but Peter thinks that might be a façade, she couldn't have possibly come to terms with this in such a short amount of time. "I'm right here, bud, I want to hear, no more secrets."

It takes Peter a second, licking at dry lips and shoving that clingy lump in his throat down forcefully, stabbing the unfortunate wonton with a chopstick as he takes in a breath through his nose.

Peter finally makes eye contact with his Aunt, biting the inside of his lip as he does so. He wants to tell her, wants to be free of all the secrets and lies that sit between him and his Aunt, pushing them further and further apart. But at the same time, May doesn't need any more burdens to bear, any more weight on her thin shoulders.

She does  _so much_ , so much for Peter. It's been tough without Ben, and May has been Peter's rock at times when maybe it should have been the other way around. She's Peter's hero in far more important and many more ways than _Captain America_ or _Iron Man_ could ever be. (Peter wishes he had told her that now)

And it feels wrong, it feels  _selfish_  of Peter to dump his problems, his insecurities, his fears, onto May when this past year has already loaded so much onto her already. So, Peter decides that this time, this time  _he'll_  be the one to make the necessary sacrifices in order to protect her. Because while Peter might long to confide in someone, May doesn't deserve that.

When Peter next opens his mouth he feels floaty, his fingers like static, his eyes unfocused, almost numb as he goes over the past year, telling the truth, but leaving out details, forgoing the lies, but not filling in specifics.

He tells May about getting his powers, about the enhanced strength and the thrilling exhilaration he feels while out crime fighting.

But he doesn't tell her about the unbearable sensory overloads he still sometimes suffers, doesn't talk about the stress that causes.

He tells her about going to Germany, how awesome and exciting it had been to go toe to toe with real Superheroes.

But he carefully does not tell her about the weight of a jetway bridge, doesn't bring up how it felt to watch someone fall from the sky.

He tells her of the shock he felt when he found that Liz's dad was the man he had been tracking down for weeks.

But he doesn't tell her of the terrifying threats the man made when they were alone together in that car.

He tells her of the sound a building makes when it collapses, tells her how stupid he had felt at having fallen for such a dumb trick.

But he doesn't tell her of the gut-wrenching terror and panic, doesn't tell her how helpless and alone he had felt.

They talk into the late hours of the night, the mugs of tea long ago emptied and the cartons of food forgotten. They relocated to the comfort of the living room at some point, both on the couch under a knitted blanket, but Peter can't exactly remember how they got there.

May does end up breaking down, the wetness that had been in her eyes finally spilling over. And Peter can't help but cry too, his chest aching with the knowledge that he did that, he was the one to cause his Aunt pain.

But that is also the moment that's Peter knows for  _certain_  he made the right decision, because if hearing this censored version of his story hurts May so badly, then Peter can't stomach the thought of May really knowing the gory details, the emotional hurdles, the battle scars.

Peter closes his exhausted eyes, takes in the smell of May's sage shampoo as they hug one another on the safety of couch, comforting himself with her presences, with the feel of her soft sweater in his palms and her face smushed firmly in his unruly hair.

He did good, he protected her, he made the right choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anydoodles, I hope you enjoyed, I stayed up way too late to get this done so I'm off to dream world! (✿´‿`)
> 
> PS. waking up to comments and reviews makes my day...just if you wanted to know that detail about me...


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I missed last weeks update #healthproblems
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chappie though! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

**Chapter 3-**

Peter is decidedly  _not_  sleeping when he gets a text from an unknown number -instructing him to meet the stranger on the roof of his building- at 2:47am in the morning. 

Peter glances from the old stereo he had been fiddling with to his beat up and cracked phone, his eyebrows pinching together before he picks it up and shoots off a reply.

 **Pepher-**  Not that I'm not up to meet random strangers on rooftops in the middle of the night, but...       ⚆ _ ⚆

Peter stares at his phone, waiting for it to vibrate some sort of response, not sure if his suspicions are correct or if the text had been meant for someone else entirely.

The teenager feels a little wired, his fingers shaking with jitters and his skin prickly to the touch. Normally Peter would take that fidgety energy and go out on patrol, let his limbs loosen with the feel of web-slinging and his mind go blank with the sounds of the city.

But May has asked that Peter take off at least two school nights a week and that he be home by 2:00am on the other nights he  _does_ patrol, and in all honestly Peter had been expecting far more requirements and restrictions so he had just given her a tight hug and thanked her profusely for going easy on him.

May has known about Peter's being Spiderman for a little over a week now, and while Peter can tell she isn't exactly  _happy_ with the circumstances, she is doing her best to support Peter in his hero work. The teenager appreciates it immensely, more than he can put into words really, he's never been so thankful for his Aunt May's adaptability.

The teen knows that his keeping secrets has hurt their relationship in a lot of ways, and Peter is fairly sure that May can tell he is still keeping details from her. But she doesn't push or dig to know them, and Peter is grateful for that. Aunt May doesn't need to know certain truths, doesn't need to worry or stay up at night thinking about those things that neither she nor Peter can change.

Peter does enough of that for the both of them.

Peter's phone vibrates a moment later, three texts arriving in a rapid fire.

 **Unknown-**  Com'on kid

 **Unknown-**  I highly doubt anyone else texts you at this hour

 **Unknown-**  And I am an impatient man

Peter shoves out of his rolly desk chair and rummages in his backpack for his old and scuffed tennis shoes, scooping a hoodie off of the floor, zipping it up to cover his Star Wars t-shirt and shooting off a quick- " _Mr. Stark?"_  before he is climbing out of his bedroom window and crawling to the roof with a practiced ease.

Peter finds himself very glad that he and May live on the top floor because that makes the process of climbing with shoes on a lot easier, he still slips once though, the worn tread of his sneaker making a rough sound against the wall.

Peter flips onto the roof with a grace that he had never had pre-bite, landing lightly on the balls of his feet, and holding back a hiss as he jostles a still healing ankle. Tony Stark is leaned up against the railing of the rooftop, the man not looking out of place even when he probably  _should_.

Actually, when Peter thinks about it, he would be very shocked if Mr. Stark has  _ever_ felt out of place in his entire life, it doesn't seem to matter if the billionaire is in the middle of battle, at a press conference, or on a rooftop in Queens, the man just always seems to  _fit_.

"H-hi," Peter mumbles as he approaches, forcing himself to not fidget with the hem of his hoodie as he walks up to the man. He doesn't have any trouble seeing Mr. Stark, not with the light pollution surrounding them, hiding them away from the stars.

The teen has no idea why Mr. Stark is here. Nothing big has happened since Peter took the Vulture down a few weeks ago, Spidey has just been going throughout Queens trying to clean up the last of the weapons that Toomes sold out to random baddies, but other than that, it's been pretty quiet.

Peter's even tried to cut off part of his contact with Happy, has been careful to not bother the man with unnecessary information, he's been trying really hard to no longer be bothersome and to only call when something he can't handle on his own is going down, he's been doing  _good_.

But still that niggling feeling of dread twists in Peter's gut. "Um, why'd you come all the way out here?" Peter asks, shifting from foot to foot as he glances at Mr. Stark. "I-is this about, uh, another-another  _'retreat'_?" he can't help but wonder or hope really.

Peter has wracked his brain over the past thirty seconds, and he can't think of anything he has done recently that would warrant an in-person lecture from Mr. Stark.  
With Karen's help, Spiderman is leaving a lot less collateral damage behind, is becoming far more officiant in battle. Peter is improving, quicker and lighter on his feet, mind moving faster with each fight he comes away from.

Tony shakes his head, looking up from his phone before pocketing the device into his blue blazer. "Nothing that exciting," he says as he takes a step forward, slinging an arm over Peter's tense shoulders and twisting them around so they can glance over at the far-off city. "Relax kiddo, I just came to talk, nothing big and scary."

Those words make Peter loosen slightly, over these past few months if Peter has learned  _anything_ , it's that Tony Stark is blunt and to the point; if Peter was in trouble he'd already know it.

But that thought allows the teenager's tongue to unstick from the roof of his mouth and he finds himself incredulously saying, "at  _three in the morning_? You came out here to talk to me at three in the morning?"

A few months ago, heck even a few  _weeks ago_ and Peter would have been screaming internally at the thought of  _Tony Stark_  coming to talk to him one on one in the middle of the night for no apparent reason. But now that  _some_  (because it will never fully fade) of that hero-worship and admiration has bled out Peter just finds himself confused and curious.

Tony takes his arm away from Peter's shoulders, twisting around to sit on what looks like a large, red, shiny, briefcase, before placing his right leg over his left knee, and crossing his arms over his chest- like this situation  _isn't_ something odd or out of the ordinary. "Your surprisingly hot aunt is also shockingly frightening," Tony says, almost flatly.

It takes the teenager a moment to process those words, blinking at the man sat before him. "M-my Aunt? What abou-"

"Your Aunt and I had lunch," Tony interrupts Peter's stuttering. Again, sounding uninterested.

"You…you had lunch… You and my Aunt had lunch," Peter's brain isn't helping him whatsoever, he might be smart, but it seems that even his mind has limits, and those limits are apparently 28 hours without sleep.

Mr. Stark nods, "well maybe saying lunch is putting it lightly, I would call it an interrogation, perhaps a prosecution, whatever you categorize it as- it was moderately terrifying."

Peter stares frozen, gobsmacked for a moment, the sounds of the city buzzing in his ears. "My-my Aunt, sh-she came to you, after…after she found out." And it isn't really a question but Mr. Stark nods anyway, looking slightly amused and possibly a bit bored with how long it is taking the teenager to process this turn of events.

"She called me up, I suggested a lunch date," Tony waves off, "it gave me enough time to pull up the baby monitor protocol and figure out exactly what I was dealing with."

Peter doesn't hear the next few words that come out of Mr. Starks mouth, something about  _'dealing with damage control'_. The teen's mind is stuck on what Tony just said, the fact that he had pulled up the baby monitor protocol to so flippantly spy on Peter.

"T-that is a complete invasion of privacy Mr. Stark," Peter says mildly numb, more shocked than offended. His head spinning slightly with the implications, and then his mind halting as he realizes he's too tired to go over every embarrassing thing he has done in the suit as of late.

Tony shrugs, fiddling with his watch. "Privacy isn't really my thing," he informs before plowing on as if that wasn't an issue at all, well to Tony it probably _wasn't_  an issue. "Your Aunt and I made a deal," Mr. Stark says, before levering Peter with a weird look. He gestures to Peter's left leg, "how's the ankle?" he asks seemingly out of the blue.

Peter's flounders for a moment, his head feeling floaty and off-axis, his tired and muddled brain is having trouble keeping up with Mr. Stark and his constant subject changes. (Is this how criminals feel when Spiderman is firing off quips?  _Peter sure hopes so)_

Peter had hurt his ankle yesterday on patrol, but the teenager had tried his best to stay off of it today and to eat a lot of calories so it would heal as quickly as possible. "Uh," Peter blinks, "it's  _fine...?_ " The statement comes out sounding more like a question, Peter's voice unsure and hesitant.

Tony flicks out his phone in a quick move, projecting a screen into the air, much like he had done the first time Peter and he met all those months ago. But this time it isn't footage of Spiderman saving the day, but a picture of a slightly fractured fibula bone.

Peter freezes, his mouth going dry and his fingers needing to fiddle with something. Neither he or Tony move for a long painful moment, just the sound of cars driving and a plane flying far overhead, before Mr. Stark deadpans, "ouch." In a neutral voice.

Peter swallows but doesn't say anything, giving up on not fidgeting and pulling his sleeves over his fingers to fist the fabric into tight balls of material, suddenly the city seems a bit too loud, the air a smidgen too cold.

Tony waves the image out of existence. "That was a full 24 hours ago," he says, "and guess what," Mr. Stark stands here, coming a step closer to the teenager. "Happy doesn't have _one_  missed call from you, not even a text."

Peter takes an unconscious step back, feels the dull sharpness of where his ankle is just now newly healed. "I handled it," he informs, not sure if he is in trouble for not calling or for getting injured in the first place. "It-it wasn't a big deal, just…just a small break."

Mr. Stark purses his lips, shaking his head before making direct eye contact, Peter struggles not to look away. " _Every_  break is a big deal," Mr. Stark says, "I gave you 24 hours to call, and you never did."

Peter doesn't have a reply for that. Yesterday had been nothing, hurting his ankle had been more of an irritation than anything else, in comparison to Peter's other injuries, the way he had felt after his fight with the Vulture, yesterday was…yesterday was  _nothing_. But Mr. Stark doesn't know that.

"I didn't think you or Happy needed to hear when I got hurt," Peter finally finds his voice, though it comes out smaller than he would like, he clears his throat to dislodge the cotton in there.

"Maybe not the small things, but if you break a bone I wanna know about it," Mr. Stark says, "the suit was supposed to be a protection, not an excuse to become reckless." Peter makes to interrupt the man at those words, but Tony shakes his head, holding up a finger. "Sorry, that came out wrong. What I meant was. You aren't going to stop, that's been proven, and if you're going to do this then you need people to rely on." Tony rubs a hand over his face, he looks tired in the same way Peter feels.

The man looks away from Peter, gazing to the streets below instead, breathing out deeply before- "next time something like this happens, next time you get hurt or in over your head,  _you_   _call_."

Peter looks down to his shoes, blinking rapidly as he takes in those words. "That's what you and May decided on?" the teen asks his feet, "this was the deal. That you keep an even  _closer_ eye on me?"

It takes Mr. Stark a moment to answer, "I was complacent, before." Tony turns to look back at Peter and the teenager forces his gaze upward, forces himself to look Mr. Stark in the eye. "No matter what you might think, you're still a kid. I thought the suit would be enough, but seems the world just keeps spitting out more messes for us to clean up, and having high tech isn't always enough."

Peter takes a breath in through his nose. "What do you mean?"

Tony moves his head sharply, "I'm going to be more involved with your  _Spider-linging,_  you can't do this alone, no one can." He walks over to the red briefcase and it pops open as Mr. Stark presses something on his watch.

Peter observes in far away awe as Tony is quickly encased in an Iron Man suit, the metal climbing up his body to encircle around the billionaire in a clean and effortless display of brilliance, things like that will _never_ cease to be cool, Ned is going to be  _so_ jealous when Peter tells him about this tomorrow at school.

Iron Man begins to hover over Peter's head, the repulsors oddly quiet in the night air. "You call, you get hurt, you get over your head, you call. None of this I'm not a kid, I don't need help BS, got it?"

Peter presses his lips together, nodding an affirmation and mumbling a soft, "okay," in numb and somewhat confused agreement.

And then Iron Man is taking off, the breeze from his abrupt launch ruffling Peter's unkempt hair and whipping at his oversized hoodie and pajama pant as the teen watches Iron Man fly into the darkness of 3:00am.

* * *

 

Peter gasps awake like a man drowning, bolting upright and scrabbling at the sheets that have found their way tangled around his legs in the midst of his fitful sleep. He pants open mouthed, ragged breaths coming from too tight lungs. Grabbing with trembling fingers at his heaving chest as he tries to shove the illogical fear down.

His ears are ringing and his head buzzes with a dull panic that shouldn't be there. The teen feels claustrophobic in a way he doesn't normally, and suddenly it feels as if the darkness is pressing in on him from all sides, leaving him to gasp and splutter as he drowns in shadow.

Peter stumbles out of his bed, his feet taking him out of his bedroom and into their small kitchen without a second's thought. The teen fumbles for a glass before filling it with water and downing it in a few greedy gulps, it doesn't get rid of the swimming anxiety, but it does help to settle his breathing somewhat.

The teen grips the countertop with shaky fingers, feels the way he could splinter and break the material apart if he just turned his wrist in the right way, if he lost control of his strength, if he accidentally slipped up.

"Peter?" a concerned voice whispers softly, making the teen flinch in a slight surprise. He hadn't meant to wake Aunt May, she has an early shift tomorrow at work and needs all the sleep she can get.

Peter doesn't answer, doesn't have access to his vocal cords at this moment. But May seems to know this, seems to discern what's wrong within an instant. She walks up to Peter, placing a slender hand between his tense shoulder blades and asks, "bad night?" in a simple and understanding kind of way, one that Peter isn't sure he earned a right to hear so frequently.

Peter breathes in, holds it, forces the air to stay in his uncooperative lungs for a silent moment, then slowly releases it out his nose in a controlled and practiced motion. Closing his heavy eyes, Peter nods once, because every movement seems to drain him of his already depleting energy and he's just  _so darn tired_.

May hums, her fingers combing through Peter's slightly curly hair before she wraps her hand around his arm and pulls him away from the kitchen. Peter doesn't protest, unsticking his fingers from the countertop and letting his Aunt drag him toward the living room.

May pushes Peter onto the couch, waits for the teenager to curl into the corner before sitting pressed up next to him without a word.

Peter feels cold inside, almost numb, but he can breathe, so he's okay. Everything's okay,  _everything's okay._

A moment later a knitted blanket finds its way around the teen's shoulders, smelling of root beer even though it's already been through the wash, it's worn strings slightly frayed and soft where Peter tangles his fingers into the holes of the pattern. And then May is pulling Peter towards her in an  _almost_  hug, her arms around his shoulders, but not clinging, not crushing, allowing him the room to breathe. She lays backward a beat later, sighing something deep and grounding as she pulls Peter down with her so that he is almost on top of her.

Normally Peter might protest this, might say something about how he is  _fifteen_  and not  _five_ , but he just takes in the smell of lavender still clinging to May's clothes, the way her breathing is steady and strong, the feel of her long fingers scratching at his scalp in a soothing motion.

Finally, after what seems like a lifetime Peter feels himself start to relax, his shoulders loosening and his tense muscles letting go. The teen gains enough energy to untangle his hand from the blanket to bunch up some of his Aunt's t-shirt in a clingy way.

This isn't a new tradition, Peter has always been prone to nightmares while under stress or anxiety, he had bad dreams for months after his parents died, and all throughout childhood, when Ben had been laid off at work, when he skipped a grade in school, when May had found a weird mole on her arm, when Ben had died…

And whenever those nightmares occurred May just seemed to know instinctively, but she never forced Peter to talk, never asked what he dreamed about or what he was thinking. She just hugged him and helped him with her warm and steady presences.

"What would I do without you?" Peter whispers into the dark, the words said softly into May's stomach.

She hums, something low and soothing, her fingers still playing with his loose curls. "I think the question is, what would  _I_  do without  _you?"_

* * *

 

Peter rubs at his side with an irritated eye-roll. Flash had whipped him with a wet towel in the locker room after gym class, and the stupid thing about it was, Peter  _knew_  the moment it was coming -could feel the way his body wanted to dodge the blow- but Peter had to force himself to stand still and take it.

The teen can still hear the way Flash snickered and mocked him before leaving the locker room, a bit more swagger to his step; can still see the way some of the other boys had given him pitying looks as Peter ducked his way out the door.

If people like Flash knew what Peter could do, if they knew who Peter was, life would be  _very_  different, maybe Peter would be the one slapping people with wet towels and making up stupid nicknames- _except_ , Peter isn't a jerk so he still wouldn't do any of that, even if it was to somebody like Flash.

"So, you comin' over this weekend?" Ned asks as the two boys shuffle down the hall to their next period, Ned's in a very good mood today and just being with his friend makes Peter feel lighter, feel less weighed down and like the fifteen-year-old boy, he is meant to be.

Peter pulls at his backpack straps, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he smiles wide and happy. "Yu _p_ ," he pops the P on the end, chuckling as Ned pumps his fist in the air with an excited  _'yes!'_.

"May just asked that we eat some  _real food_ ," Peter goes on, grabbing a textbook midair as it falls from Ned's fumbling hands. "She says that we can't just eat  _'byproducts that teenage boys let pass as edible'_  if we want to continue living," at Ned's confused expression Peter shrugs, "May's words not mine."

Ned shakes his head, a fond smile playing on his lips as he bounces in place. "Cool. I haven't played it yet so I am  _psyched!"_  Ned exclaims, pausing to make sure no one heard his too loud voice. Most the students are already in class, Ned and Peter (along with a few other kids) are running a bit late, all brushing past each other in a shushed and rushed hurry down the moderately empty hallway.

Ned turns back to Peter, his voice low and reverent now, but just as enthusiastic as before. "I am counting down the hours, dude, I can't wait for last period to be over."

Ned had won some sort of contest (Peter can't remember) and was able to get the new Battle Front Star Wars game even though it wasn't supposed to come out for another  _month_. Ned and Peter are going to let themselves play video games until they fall into oblivion or a coma (whichever comes first) Peter is actually really excited for such a low-key and enjoyable weekend, he hasn't gotten to spend some good old-fashioned nerd time with Ned in a while and he thinks he could probably use the break.

"I still can't believe you won, man. This weekend is going to be  _a-maz-ing!"_  The last word is punctured with a fist bump as Peter initiates his and Ned's handshake, the two able to do it without any thought at this point, the pattern of it imprinted into both of their brains.

 _"I know!"_  Ned agrees, his voice pitching upward, "and I swear I've been waiting for you, but I did familiarize myself with the controls, because-"

Ned is cut off as a soft voice from behind says, "Peter, may I speak with you for a moment?"

Peter and Ned both turn to see Ms. Lynn standing in the doorway of her office, a small smile on her face and her hands clasped in front of her. The hall is now empty, Ned and Peter thoroughly late for class, and the bell already rung.

Ned eyes Peter for a moment, the atmosphere in the air has shifted to something less playful. Ned whispers a quiet, "uh, I'll see you after class," before scurrying off, his textbooks balanced precariously in hand.

Peter presses his lips together, "um, I have history," he informs, taking a hesitant step forward. He isn't sure why the school's guidance counselor would want to talk to him, he hasn't gotten into any fights (other than verbal ones with Flash) and his grades are improving from where Peter had let them drop last month.

Ms. Lynn smiles wider, unclasping her hands as she waves Peter's concern off. "I already talked to Mr. Gardener, he knows you will be a few minutes late to his class." So, this had been deliberate and thought out, Peter bunches the sleeves of his Midtown High sweater into his hands.

"Um, o-okay, sure let's talk." Peter shuffles into Ms. Lynn's office with her behind, Ms. Lynn having waited for him to go first. The teen plops himself into one of the large chairs, sitting on one curled leg and letting the other dangle.

He's only been in Ms. Lynn's office once before, when he had first gotten into Midtown and she had gone over the whole 'my door is always open,' and 'high school can be a difficult place', talk with him before handing him a packet of articles and pamphlets and letting him go. Which had been a little over a year now, so Peter isn't entirely sure why she is pulling him aside.

Ms. Lynn seats herself across from Peter, smoothing out her long mint-green sweater as she does so. Ms. Lynn is somewhere in her early twenties, only having worked at Midtown for three years now, she seems like a sweet person, letting the kids call her by her first name rather than her last and always seen with a smile on her face.

But even knowing that Peter feels uncertain, wondering if he had done something wrong, and then trying to figure out how he had caught the school councilor's eye and not the principal's.

"So-so," Peter begins when the silence draws out for a moment too long, fidgeting in his seat. "What's this about?" he asks, glancing to Ms. Lynn with an unconcealed curiosity.

The woman cocks her head to the side slightly, bringing her clasped hands up and resting her chin on top of them, her big brown eyes assessing, Peter feels like he is being examined. "How are you doing Peter?" she asks, her voice soft, with the slight lift of an accent.

The teenager blinks caught off-guard. "I, uh,  _I'm fine?"_  the words come out as a question when really Peter had meant them as a statement. His confusion over this situation mounting.

Ms. Lynn nods, her lips perusing in something like understanding. "How are things at home?" she asks, placing her hands onto the dark wood of her desk, everything about her is open and kind, but Peter feels his walls going up, his sense on high alert.

"At-at home?" Peter asks back, feeling a spike of confusion hit him. "They're fine, good,  _great,_  I mean."

Ms. Lynn glances to her kettle in the corner of the room, sat atop a small table with a basket of different tea flavors. "Would you like something to drink Peter?" she offers, "I'm a tea drinker myself, but I have some cocoa if you would like some?" Again, everything about her seems genuine and sweet, Peter tugs at his Midtown high sweater's sleeves as he shakes his head 'no'.

Ms. Lynn's office is warm and cozy in every sense of the word, with random knick-knacks strung about, smelling of Jasmin tea and eucalyptus leaves from the little plant sitting on the edge of her desk, a small corner couch in the back by a bookshelf with a flowery blanket strung over it.

Peter can tell Ms. Lynn went to a lot of trouble to make this room so inviting, and in a different situation, Peter can even see himself relaxing inside the office, rather than tensing up.

There is a moment, where it looks like Ms. Lynn is debating her next words, before she says, "a number of the teachers have expressed some concern for your well-being, and a few students actually." She lets her words float in the air between them, only the sound of their mixed breathing and a tiny electric waterfall to break the silence.

Peter blinks, surprised that multiple people have even paid him enough attention to  _notice_  something was wrong. "I…I'm fine, everything is fine," he tries for a smile as he says the words, his chest feeling a little too tight as he mumbles out the long ago practiced and self-told lie.

Ms. Lynn gives Peter a soft almost pitying look, her big brown eyes taking everything in. "You've shown up to school with a number of bruises, and as a student under our watch it is our responsibility to make sure you are safe and-"

Peter interrupts as he understands the  _'how are things at home?'_ comment, he can't help but feel a burst of mortification on his Aunt's behalf. "My Aunt May  _isn't_  hurting me," he blurts, feeling a coil of protection for May twist in his stomach. "Aunt May would  _never_  hurt me."

Ms. Lynn nods, not showing her reaction or feelings on the matter whatsoever, she just seems calm and collected, Peter has a hard time reading her. "Your grades dropped significantly last month Peter, and your attendance was very spotty, some of the staff took notice, and certain things were brought to my attention."

Peter shakes his head rapidly, "my grades are almost back to normal though, and-and I haven't missed a day off school in  _weeks_." This just feels kind of late in all honesty, last month when Peter had been gone more than he wasn't and he had been in the middle of a  _moderate identity crisis_ , that might have been the time for a talk with the school's guidance counselor.

But of course, most of Peter's problems are not  _Peter's_  problems, but Spiderman's. And there is no way Peter can tell Ms. Lynn -or  _anyone_ for that matter- that the reason he shows up to school beaten and bruised on occasion, isn't because he's dealing with domestic abuse or bullies, but because he went out and fought bad guys every other night.

Ms. Lynn's voice brings Peter out of his musing. "I'm not here to lecture you about your school work, Peter, it just seems to me that something is wrong. You're a good student, smart and determined, I just wanted to talk with you, make sure that you are alright."

"I-I'm fine," Peter says again, not quite certain of what else to say. Because sure, sometimes he  _is_ fine, but other days he  _isn't_. And maybe being able to talk to someone impartial would help, being able to confide in another person might take some of the pressure away from his chest. But Peter shouldn't even entertain those thoughts because he  _can't-_  he  _can't_  talk about what is bothering him, what haunts his dreams, what he thinks about when he is  _supposed_  to be paying attention in class- because those are  _Spiderman's_  secrets, _not_  Peter's.

"I've just been adjusting," Peter goes on, biting at his lip as he glances to his twitching fingers in his lap, "that's all," he finishes lamely. Ms. Lynn acts as if she actually cares, she seems like she would  _really listen_  if Peter decided he wanted to spill.

Ms. Lynn leans forward slightly, shifting so her bangs almost get into her eyes. "What are you having to adjust to? If you don't mind me asking." Again, she isn't acting like some of the other teachers, where they are complacent or far off, her attuited and demeanor makes this feel more like Peter is talking to another student, not a teacher, an adult.

For a fleeting moment, Peter wonders if that is why Midtown chose to hire Ms. Lynn, even though she is so young, or maybe _because_ of it.

"I, uh," Peter starts, blinking to himself, as he realizes something he hadn't before- yes, his main problems might be interwoven with Spiderman's, they might be bigger issues than any other fifteen-year-old is dealing with, and it all might be a situation that Ms. Lynn would never understand.

But Peter Parker has his own set of issues too, and those, those he is allowed to talk about, those he is allowed to share. "I, uh, my Aunt and I just had to move, and um, I also am interning for Stark Industries, so it's just been really busy."

Ms. Lynn leans back into her chair nodding in understanding, her lips pursed in thought. "And right when school was starting back up, that must have been a lot to take on all at once."

Peter finds himself nodding, still gazing down at his fidgeting fingers in his lap, it's easier to not look at Ms. Lynn's soft and sympathetic eyes. "It…yeah. It's fine, I just had to get used to it." It really wasn't a huge problem, they still lived in Forest Hills for goodness sake.

It made sense, May couldn't afford their old apartment on just her income alone, and Peter was too young to get a job at this point. It was the logical step, there was only two of them now, they didn't need the old apartment. But even still, the new apartment lacked the memories, it lacked  _Ben._ Relocating felt like the final step to moving on, and it hurt, it hurt because Peter wasn't sure he was  _ready_  to move on.

"It gets to be too much sometimes," Peter tells his lap because he can't seem to find it in himself to look up. "I just…sometimes it feels like I have too much weight, too much pressure on top of me…and I don't know what to do with it."

Ms. Lynn hums, "that's understandable Peter, from what I've heard, you've had a rough year, and sometimes even the strongest of us need a break."

Peter huffs, smiling something small and sad as he glances up at Ms. Lynn from under his bangs. "How can you take a break from your life?" he asks, not actually sure if he is expecting an answer.

Ms. Lynn smiles something soft. "Well, how would you feel about coming here when you need to?" she asks, "my office is always open, and we don't even have to talk if you don't wish to. If things becoming overwhelming or if that pressure you feel becomes too much, then I want you to know you can come to my office as something of a free zone, a place where life is on mute for a while," she chuckles here, her eyes lighting, "just long enough for you to feel less weighted down."

Peter blinks at Ms. Lynn, feeling something swelling in his chest, he thinks it might be gratefulness maybe relief. He doesn't think Ms. Lynn even realizes what her offer means to him, she just gave him a safe place to go when he is feeling overwhelmed, when the noise and lights are too much, when Flash just  _won't leave him alone_ , she just gave him a secret refuge, it almost feels like a superpower, a weapon just for Peter to use.

"Does that sound like something that might be helpful for you?" Ms. Lynn asks.

Peter smiles, "yeah…it does."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to let you all know that I am now a professional nerd because I wrote this chapter while wearing my new Midtown High t-shirt...yes, yes lose all your respect for me...it was a long time coming...
> 
> Alright, kiddos! Just one more chapter and this bad-boy is done, so see you next update! (and in the comments!) \ (•◡•) /

**Author's Note:**

> I'm already working on the next chapter so that should be up soon, my fellow goofballs. (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
> 
> Kudos and comments make the hamster in my computer go faster, so be sure to drop some of those. ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ


End file.
